


Destiny of a lie

by mithborien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-02
Updated: 2006-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithborien/pseuds/mithborien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the only thing he can do though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destiny of a lie

Regulus sits on the top step of the staircase listening to his mother speak below. Her voice is proud and arrogant and he’s happy that it’s him that she is talking about.

He doesn’t like the voice of the other woman though. She runs an enrichment program for talented magical children and his mother is trying to get him to attend in the year before he goes to Hogwarts.

“He’s very precocious,” his mother drawls, as if her words are nothing more than a casual fact. “He’s quiet, of course, but he can hold a conversation better than children more than twice his age.”

The other woman asks something too low for him to hear. Her voice sounds sharp and unfriendly. He doesn’t want to go to her classes. They don’t sound fun at all.

“Of course, he enjoys puzzles. His aptitude is astounding.” His mother’s voice is confident, as if she already knows that Regulus will be accepted. He recalls the conversation he heard last night between his parents on the subject of bribes.

“Are they still yapping on down there?” Sirius asks from behind him and Regulus jumps. Sirius never went to any enrichment program, Regulus thinks and he wonders if that means he’s better than his brother.

Sirius has just completed his first year of Hogwarts where he inexplicably got sorted into Gryffindor. Regulus doesn’t know why. He has always thought that his brother was brilliant and since Slytherin has always been the best house, he doesn’t know why Sirius wouldn’t have gotten in. He heard his parents discussing it one night and words like ungrateful, belligerent and unworthy cropped up although they never said a word in front of their children.

Sirius is still wearing his Gryffindor tie even though he’s been home for two days. The red and gold seem far too bright in the darkness of their house. Sirius doesn’t talk as much as he used to, he just stares at their parents as if they are a puzzle that he’s trying to work out and the frown on his face suggests that he doesn’t like where his conclusions are taking him.

Sometimes Sirius looks at Regulus the same way and Regulus wonders what he sees.

\+ + +

Regulus watches Sirius throw his things into his trunk with his heart in his throat and his hand curled into a fist.

“You can’t leave,” he tries.

“Why not?” his brother hisses and turns. One of his eyes is bruised and there is a small smear of blood against the corner of his mouth. Regulus wonders which of his parents did the damage.

“We’re your family,” he stammers in reply.

Sirius laughs. Long and hard and cold and Regulus wonders if he realises just how much he sounds like their mother.

“So what? You’re nothing more than a bunch of fucking, bastardised, insane freaks whose heads are so far up your collective supposedly superior arseholes that you can’t see how bloody horrible you are.”

“That isn’t true,” Regulus snaps back at him. “You’re just over-reacting. You spend far too much time with those misbehaved friends of yours.” He’s seen Sirius running through the halls of Hogwarts, laughter and grins in equal measure upon his face and his arms around his Gryffindor classmates. He looked happy and completely unconcerned that he was letting his family down. Lately though, Regulus had noticed a layer of tension between Sirius and his friends. He had hoped that meant that Sirius was realising his mistakes and would come back home to his brother and family.

Sirius slams his trunk shut and grabs his brother’s collar. “Don’t you dare say a word about my friends,” he growls. “Not a word or I will tear your head off. You will never have friends who are as great and as brilliant as mine are, you hear that?”

Regulus doesn’t say a word and waits for Sirius to let him go. He doesn’t understand his brother. He doesn’t understand why Sirius wasn’t in Slytherin, why he is choosing now to run away and why he continues to defend his friends. He’s seen the way that that bastard Potter acts, pranking and bullying people who did nothing to him in the first place. He’s heard the insults and stories that Severus Snape shouts in the privacy of the Slytherin Common Room and wonders how on earth Sirius could be friends with such a person.

He doesn’t ask himself why he continues to defend his brother to his parents though. He doesn’t need to. Family should always be stronger than friendship.

“You can’t leave,” he tries again and wonders if Sirius can hear the emotion in his voice.

His brother obviously does because Sirius looks up with the saddest face that Regulus has ever seen on him.

“I have to,” he whispers. He takes a deep breath and waves his wand at his trunk. It shrinks down and Sirius slips it into his pocket. “I have to,” he continues, “because I can’t stay one moment longer in this house listening to the bullshit that our parents tell us.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

Sirius shakes his head regretfully. “It is. And you’ve already slipped and fallen in it.”

Regulus says nothing. He doesn’t move when Sirius looks as if he wants to give him one last hug and he watches in silence as Sirius climbs out the window without a backward glance.

\+ + +

Regulus sits quietly and listens to Dumbledore drone on and on. His speeches get more and more boring every year and Regulus wonders whether the headmaster actually tries to make them boring or whether it happens by accident.

At the moment, he’s rambling on about unity in the face of danger and how they all need to stay strong. Thankfully, the burning pain of the Dark Mark carved into his wrist is enough to keep him suitably distracted. The fingers on his right hand trace the pattern on the inside of his sleeve again and again. It’s never-ending, the complexity of lines and patterns and Regulus could study it for days.

He’s slightly disappointed that Sirius didn’t turn up for his graduation. Of course, his parents are here as well so it’s understandable that his brother didn’t make an appearance. If he did there would most likely be a confrontation and Regulus wouldn’t have liked that.

He hasn’t told his parents what he has done. But he can imagine their congratulations and pleasure when they find out that he has taken a stand. He’s made it clear who he supports and he is not afraid to stand by it.

 _And you’ve already slipped and fallen in it._

Sirius’ words echo but he ignores them. This was his choice, he thinks. He’s standing up for what he believes in, just like Sirius did except he made the right choice. He didn’t abandon his family and run off with ingrates. He’ll make them proud and prove to his brother that Sirius was the one who made the mistake.

\+ + +

Torture doesn’t bother Regulus as much as he thought it would. He doesn’t know how he would hold up under the _Cruciatus_ himself but watching someone writhe and twist in pain, the agony too strong to even scream out in release doesn’t unsettle him. It’s _who_ they are torturing is what’s worrying him.

It’s the Prewett brothers that are on the floor before him. Getting hit with all manner of inventive curses designed to tear flesh and break bone. He can’t remember their first names; they were too many years above him at Hogwarts. All he knows is that they put up a good fight, have red hair and are Purebloods.

He doesn’t regret the path that he has taken but he is starting to question it. Without a doubt he believes that Purebloods are superior, the art of magic is a wondrous thing and to allow it to be tainted by Muggles should not be allowed to happen but the policies of the Dark Lord, the man he has sworn to die for, are unclear and that worries him.

Regulus has sat and listened to sermons of how Muggles should be their servants, how half bloods are an abomination and how half breeds should be exterminated. He’s listened on how Purebloods should be honoured above everyone else, how they should be the only true practitioners of magic and how everyone else needs to know this.

But the Death Eaters torture Purebloods as often as they torture Mudbloods and he can’t see what makes them different. They both die just as easily. But shouldn’t Purebloods, he thinks, as he watches the Prewett’s eyes finally close in death, shouldn’t they deserve a more dignified death despite the beliefs that they hold.

And a part of him can’t help but be sad at the fact that he and his brother never shared the same loyalty that the Prewett’s obviously did.

Why do some Purebloods follow the Dark Lord and others fight so stringently against him? If all Purebloods are superior, shouldn’t they be fighting to convince the others of the truth instead of torturing them just for pleasure? Sirius, he thinks, is a Pureblood but because of his choices he’s the enemy and his blood isn’t worth a damn. And then Regulus wonders what would happen if a Mudblood made the so-called right choices and wanted to join the Dark Lord. What would happen then? Logically they would be killed because they had dirty blood and would be unworthy of joining the Dark Lord. So not only is it about blood but it’s about your choices as well. It appears being Pureblood didn’t just give you a natural right to superiority. You had to make the right choices as well, the choices that someone else declared were right.

And what about the giants and the werewolves? They aren’t even completely human and yet the Dark Lord has made deals with them, making them allies. And of course, Regulus thinks, the Dark Lord could just be using them, tricking them to further his own aims but he thinks Purebloods shouldn’t have to resort to such trickery. They shouldn’t need to, not if they’re Purebloods, not if they’re superior.

The side that he has chosen to fight for doesn’t make any sense. On the surface, it’s ideals appear true, but when he digs below the surface all that he uncovers are lies and more puzzles.

\+ + +

He wonders why Voldemort is so confident, so completely convinced of his victory. It’s more than just a conviction, it’s an absolutely fact in his glaring eyes.

Regulus knows that their side is no stronger than the other. We have Death Eaters, he thinks, they have Aurors. We have the giants, they have the Order. He can’t see an advantage but when he looks into his eyes, he can almost believe that they’re invincible. He sees it in the eyes of the Dark Lord’s followers as well, the unquestionable support, the fanaticism and he wonders why he himself doesn’t feel it.

He does what he is ordered to do but doesn’t feel the sense of accomplishment that the other Death Eaters talk about. He hears his cousin Bellatrix talk about belonging and trust and realises that he wouldn’t trust anybody here with his life. Something here is not as it should be, something is very wrong and the worst part is, he thinks the Dark Lord knows it. He thinks the Dark Lord created it.

It takes time but Regulus has always been bright and very, very good at figuring out puzzles. The Black name was always very good at opening doors and the tattoo on his wrist scares open the rest. But when he finally discovers the truth, it’s all he can do not to change his name and cut off his hand.

The Dark Lord is nothing more than a man; a man who had a family and a childhood and whose only claim to fame is being the descendent of Salazar Slytherin. He’s also a half blood.

These are words that he can’t reconcile within his mind. Words that he can’t make sense of and not hate what he has done. But he’s checked and cross referenced facts and now there is no doubt in his mind. They’re words that could collapse the army that the Dark Lord has built. Destroy the aura of fear that the Dark Lord has built around him.

But it doesn’t make sense. Why would someone fight a war for an ideal that if brought to power would see them dead? If the Dark Lord is not a Pureblood why is he fighting for their supremacy?

The only answer that Regulus can come up with is that everything he has sworn his life away for is a lie. The Dark Lord doesn’t give a damn about Purebloods and is merely using them as a front for his own bid for control. This war isn’t about blood, it’s about power.

So what does that mean for the Purebloods who believed him?

Regulus is fast realising that the ideals that he is fighting for are complete bullshit.

 _You’ve already slipped and fallen._

\+ + +

It’s amazing, how quickly one’s beliefs can be destroyed.

Regulus’ father died yesterday. Or rather, more accurately, he was murdered. He can’t prove it but he knows it was by Death Eaters. He suspects it was done on an order given by the Dark Lord himself. He wonders if it was done to punish him or because of something his father did. He knows his father had been critical of the Dark Lord’s methods as of late. Not because his father disagreed with the end that they were working towards but rather the ungraceful means they were using.

His mother didn’t cry at the funeral. She just sat there and stared at the coffin. Sirius didn’t even turn up either. Regulus doesn’t know whether to be sad or surprised. He doesn’t know what to be anymore.

The Dark Mark burns into his skin but he ignores it. He’s realised that no matter how many times he scratches it, no matter how much blood he spills, it will never go away. It will just keep smouldering beneath his flesh.

He twirls his father’s locket around his fingers, wrapping the gold chain tight enough to cut off circulation. The traps and wards that the Dark Lord put in place to shield his greatest secret was laughable. Regulus broke through them effortlessly. The blood sacrifice was clichéd, the Inferi pathetic and the potion was easy to neutralise for someone who was acquaintances with Severus Snape.

It takes only moments to perform a quick switching spell and then he is holding the Dark Lord’s Horcrux in his hands. Once he discovered the Dark Lord’s history, it didn’t take him long to discover the means by which he had assured himself of survival. Regulus is impressed that the man managed to use a Horcrux to gain himself invincibility. He wonders how much it would hurt to split your soul.

He doesn’t feel guilty about being moments away from destroying half of someone’s soul. It seems cheating to kill a man like that, not even face to face. He knows this won’t kill Voldemort, of course, but it will give someone else a fighting chance against him. A fighting chance that someone will need because he knows Voldemort will put up a hell of a fight regardless.

Regulus doesn’t think he will live more than a couple of days at the most. The other Death Eaters were getting suspicious of his devotion even before his father died. He wonders if any of them know of the lie that their leader is perpetrating to be. Regulus would tell them himself if he thought they would believe him.

This is the only thing he can do though. The only difference he can make. Alone in a cave where no one will ever see. No one will ever know what he’s done and yet he’s doing it anyway.

His brother would be proud.


End file.
